Faith, Hope and Charity
by Emerald Embers
Summary: Castiel watches, and is willing to wait. Sam/Castiel


**Title**: Faith, Hope and Charity

**Pairing**: Sam/Castiel

**Rating**: PG13 for slash

**Dedicated**: woodstarling

**Summary**: Castiel watches, and is willing to wait.

**Author's Notes**: Still not a lengthy Sassy fic, but it is at least reasonably serious, and I was determined to write something for my arboreal bird. *hugs*

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Castiel did not need to sleep. Certainly he could be wounded to the point of passing out, but there was no need for nightly rest - and Dean was due back soon, which would lead to questions and possibly even an argument if Castiel remained where he was.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet. Sam was in a deep, content sleep, no nightmares or discomfort creasing his brow, and Castiel found it oddly soothing to brush a thumb across along the smooth skin of it while running his fingers through Sam's hair.

Sam still prayed, despite everything. It did not matter that he no longer clasped his hands or acknowledged that they were prayers; Castiel heard them clear as day. He knew the depths of Sam's anger, his frustration and fear, knew how Sam wanted to glue all Dean's broken pieces back together without getting stuck in the process. He knew that he and his kind had disappointed Sam, and how Sam shared his own hope that God, wherever He was, would turn out to be the powerful, benevolent father they both prayed for. He knew that Sam didn't trust him with true affection regardless of their newfound intimacy, not yet, but he trusted him with his life.

It was a curious responsibility and honour, given he had only ever been tasked with Dean's protection and guidance. Sam had never factored in; Sam's purpose had been hidden from him, knowledge he was deemed not to need given it would ensure his continued blundering into helping the Winchesters bring about the apocalypse. Castiel could see why Lucifer would want Sam for a vessel, why vanity and necessity demanded it; Sam was powerful even as a human, his abilities frightening, and stunningly intelligent. Above all, he was beautiful.

Castiel could see that, the distraction of Sam's looks, the sweet face incongruous with the size and strength of him. It was certainly a distraction to him when he was careless, though it would be a lie to say he was attracted to Sam only physically. Whatever Dean had taught him about love for humanity, it was clear that nothing else mattered in Dean's eyes when it came to Sam. Dean would - had, in a way, if indirectly - end the world itself for his brother. Castiel had brushed it off as human impulsiveness, his sympathy at the time a vague, distant thing; but the closer he came to understanding Dean, the closer he'd come to seeing how and why Dean had once chosen to trade his soul for Sam's life.

Sam was worth saving, Castiel had come to understand; breaking apart in Sam's hands, arching under him and against him was strange and addictive, but it was nothing in comparison with the brief moments where he could see into Sam's heart, Sam's soul. Where Dean was damaged and desperate and held together by love for his family, by the ability he'd learned from his father to pick up and soldier on no matter what, Sam was a boy who had fought for the right to grow up but kept having each chance stolen from him or tainted.

Despite everything, Sam still had faith. Still wanted to believe he was capable of being good, even if he could never be pure. And he put himself through torture for those beliefs, took more weight on his shoulders than anyone deserved to hold there; there was an ache written into Sam's spine that Castiel could not deny and he suspected that there, more than anything else, was where his affection for Sam had truly started. He had liked Sam on instinct despite everything his senses told him and had thought that liking would grow - perhaps into something fraternal as it had with Dean and, until that late betrayal, Uriel too.

He'd been right about one thing. The liking _had_ grown, but not into something brotherly; Sam had acted before he was entirely sure what his own actions meant, and Sam's first quick kiss, his hand on Castiel's thigh, had led to more with almost alarming speed. Aeons of observation without experience had taken their toll and Castiel had been eager to learn anything Sam would teach him; there was anger, still, in some of Sam's actions, but Castiel could withstand that easily. He took the anger when it came, the apologies later whether they were due or unnecessary, and he knew that as much as Sam had no words of affection for him, there was a guarded warmth in his eyes that might someday come to the surface. There were thoughts written on his lips and in his moans waiting for their moment, and Castiel too could wait.

.

Castiel knew it was selfish to want Sam awake for when he left, but Dean had been introducing him to a few new ideas about grey boundaries. This wasn't cruelly selfish, not truly; and Castiel shifted up the bed a little, resting his hand against Sam's jaw.

Beautiful.

Castiel pressed a light kiss to Sam's lips, then a deeper one, pulling back a little when he heard the faint surprise of a waking breath.

Sam stirred, the arm he had around Castiel's shoulders tightening for a moment before going slack. "Hm?" a blink and a yawn, hazel eyes showing faint, sleepy confusion. "What was that for?"

"Nothing," Castiel replied, kissing Sam again.

It wasn't quite a lie. Dean was just a bad influence.

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The End


End file.
